The Mystic Nine (1) A Story Related to Er Yuehong

There’s a story about Er Yuehong in “The Grave Robbers’ Chronicles”.

The silk curtain hadn’t been changed in a long time.

It was the middle of the night, and she couldn’t sleep. When she opened her eyes, she saw the curtain hanging from the bed, looking extremely dull in the moonlight. The silk threads had originally been bright, as if they had been spun from the purest silver.

Sure enough, no matter how good things were, they would never last.

In the past, she would personally remove the curtain at the start of Autumn and wash it herself. She knew how delicate this thing was, so she had to wash it very carefully and pass it through the water inch by inch.

Now that she wasn’t allowed out of bed, this thing was no longer cleaned and appeared more and more unworthy of being treated so carefully.

Maybe someone would dare touch this thing when the next Autumn came, but that person definitely wouldn’t be her.

At noon, the doctor broke the news to him. Although they were standing outside the room, she still overheard a few things about her illness. She didn’t know how many days she had left.

She breathed a sigh of relief. The pain in her chest seemed to be a little better. How many days had it been? She couldn’t remember clearly. Her mother had taught her since she was a child that it was hard for sick people to count the days. She had always been sick even as a child, and hadn’t bothered counting the days back then either. No matter how long she was ill, it only counted as one day. It didn’t hurt so much when she thought of it like that.

But even though she couldn’t count the days, he could.

Compared to her own physical pain, the dull pain in her heart came more from him. These painful days could be forgotten by a stupid woman, but the clever man remembered each one like it was a cut from a knife.

In the past, when she was a little girl, none of the smart men who ate noodles at their stall were happy. It seemed there was a reason for it.

She looked at the silk curtain, and got lost in thought again. The curtain had been specially cut by a master in Suzhou, so the place it could be hung up was very different. The hook had a hanging strip inlaid with jadeite, and the golden part had been sewn with mandarin ducks. She used to feel that the hook needed to be as finely done as the curtain, but such a thing was rare in the market. She had nothing to choose from, so she brought this one back and found that it matched surprisingly well with this special silk curtain.

Who would be the next person to help him wash this silk curtain? It was priceless, so it shouldn’t be damaged. He also liked its texture, so he might keep it, right? If he did, someone always had to make sure it was clean.

Did she want to leave a letter for that person? She thought it over again and wondered if the next person would feel troubled if the curtain was still there.

She was a little uneasy, unhappy, and worried.

She suddenly didn’t want anyone to touch this silk curtain, even if it got dirty. She wanted it to hang there forever.

Her heart ached. If possible, she wanted to continue on like this. Even if she couldn’t get better and had to lay down her whole life, she didn’t want to leave if she could see him every day.

In a daze, she remembered the moment when he had saved her. She had been thrown over someone’s shoulder, facing a terrible and unknowable fate. She was desperate. At that time, she saw him. Her last lifeline.

She watched him descend from the sky like a god, and then come and stand in front of them. Even now, she remembered every word clearly.

“Follow me, and no one will dare bully you.”

“Really?”

“As a man, I will never break my word to a woman.”

And he didn’t, she thought to herself. Unfortunately, they didn’t expect that she wouldn’t be with him for the rest of his life.

At midnight, she got out of bed silently. He had been laying quietly beside her. He always seemed to sleep very deeply whenever she was beside him. She was careful not to make a sound as she took down the silk curtain bit by bit and then cleaned it in the yard.

It was hard exerting her strength with her sick body, and every movement triggered the pain in her chest. As she washed it, her face got paler and paler, and her hair hung down messily. She used her wet hands to wipe the hair out of her face, but she still couldn’t see clearly. She wasn’t sure if it was the water or her tears.

This is the last time, she told herself, wanting to pretend that everything was the same as usual.

She didn’t see Er Yuehong standing in the room looking at her. He hadn’t been asleep at all.

The two people didn’t disturb each other, but stood there quietly under the same moonlight.

<Wu Xie’s Private Notes: Chapter 35 Other Related Information 2><Table of Contents><The Mystic Nine (2) Fortune-Teller Qi Tiezui>